


Jumpers for Goalposts

by Conscious_ramblings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Football Player Harry, Football Player Louis, Football Player Niall, M/M, Pining, Sexting, Silly Boys, Slow Burn, Smut, i'll add smut tags when I get closer to the smut, silly bets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5878072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conscious_ramblings/pseuds/Conscious_ramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has had a crush on up and coming footballer Harry Styles for three years now. Ever since they met at an England U21s training session.</p><p>Now it's time for Harry's first team starting debut, and there's only one problem. Harry plays for the wrong team.</p><p>A stupid bet leads to an unlikely friendship and a heavy dose of mutual pining, sexting and too many feeling. Can closets and a century old rivalry really be overcome? Do they even have a choice in the matter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumpers for Goalposts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oiiiioiiii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiiiioiiii/gifts).



> Oiii Oiiiii (I'm so funny)
> 
> So this is installment two of 'sheena tries to write too many birthday fics all at once.'
> 
> This one is for My Gavalar, the light of my life, Zoe, who you guys may know as OiiiOiii on tumblr. She's the only person who fully gets my gavin and stacey love, and even though she supports the wrong team in red, I wrote her a thing. She's one of only two people I would ever even consider writing liverpool player louis for, so she should feel honoured. 
> 
> This is chapter 1 of a longer fic. I don't know how long it will be, but likely ten chapters looking at my planning. I also PROMISE the other chapters will be longer than this, consider this a prologue perhaps.
> 
> I don't know when I will be updating, and I can't promise a nice schedule, so I understand if people want to wait. It will be finished, though. It's just I am working on a few things concurrently. 
> 
> One last thing. I need to apologise to James Corden for making him an Arsenal fan. I know he is a life long west ham man, but needs must for the story.
> 
> Enjoy x

Match day’s were Louis Tomlinson’s favourite days. When else did you get to hear forty four thousand people (minus the away fans but, whatever) scream your name like you were in a boyband? When else did you get to hear those same forty four thousand people sing ‘you’ll never walk alone’ as one voice? It still gave him goosebumps, even after five years of walking onto the hallowed Anfield turf. 

Today, however, was not your normal match day. Today, rather than happy butterflies and pre-match nerves he felt sick to his stomach. Today he pushed his cuppa away across the table of his too big too empty house and sighed dramatically. Today he was going to be starting against the prettiest boy to ever grace the premiere league. Today he was starting against Harry Styles. 

Styles played midfield for Arsenal, and today was his first team starting debut. He’d played a few substitutions, here and there, proving himself to Wenger. He was Wenger’s golden child, the first hope from the revived Project Youth. Raised through the Arsenal academy, lifelong Gooner, Red till he died. Just... the wrong  _ type _ of Red. Louis was the  _ right _ type. Liverpool through and through. Cut him open and the liver birds would fly out squawking at people to ‘calm down’. He wasn’t from Liverpool, of course, but his Grandpa had been a fan and Louis had been raised on the terraces here. He’d attended an academy too, just like Styles, only at the better club. 

He stood from the kitchen island, stretching his back as he did so. His stomach was still heavy with nervous anticipation. It felt like the scrambled egg he had forced himself to eat had turned to concrete in there. Scratching the back of his head he flipped the kettle on again, waiting impatiently for it to boil. 

Louis wouldn’t normally be nervous about playing against pretty boys. He did it all the time. There was just the small matter of Harry having been his crush since they had both been at a training match for the England under 21s. Harry wasn’t on the actual team at the time, turning 18 and on the cusp between U18s and U21s, but had been allowed to train with them before the last world cup. Louis had been about to turn 21, about to face the pressure of full national squad or nothing. He’d earned five caps now, but his heart still clenched every time the call came. 

It had been two years and Louis had watched Harry turn from a gangly teen with some natural talent, to a graceful swan who had more than earned his first team spot. Not that Louis would ever admit to watching Arsenal highlights on match of the day just to check in on him. He was just keeping up with the opposition in general, it was good to know how the form of the rest of the prem was looking after all. 

So yeah, to say he was nervous about seeing Harry again was an understatement. It was hard enough to be a closeted gay player in the premier league (although a damn sight harder to be out he was sure), without fancying cute curly haired men who just happened to play for bloody Arsenal and had a 99% probability of being straight. 

A fresh cuppa in hand Louis settled onto the sofa in his too spacious lounge, checking the messages on his phone as he did so. A few from his mum, wishing him luck and then right after asking him to remember to send a card to his aunt in New Zealand who he hadn’t seen in years but who was getting married. One from his oldest sister, checking her name was on the friends and family list. One from James, ribbing Louis about Liverpool’s chances against Arsenal and saying he’d see him after. Louis grinned at that one. James was one of his favourite people, they went way back to the days when his mum had chaperoned on some TV show James was on and had dragged Louis along in half term. He could even almost forgive James being a gooner, but not on match day. He sent back a stream of cheeky abuse, before clicking onto the last new text on his phone.

**Tommo, drinks after the game tonight with the lads. You in?**

It still amazed Louis about once a week that not only did he play for Liverpool. Not only did he occasionally play for England. Not only was he stupidly rich and stupidly well know. No, on top of all that he got to be actual mates with Steven Gerrard. Actual mates who went for drinks and hung out at each other’s barbeques in summer and knew each other’s partners. Not that Louis had a partner, but Louis knew Alex, so it was basically the same thing. He had met their daughters and had been on holiday with them even. It was Louis’ childhood dream come true. 

_ Yeah man, all in. _

He shot off the reply quickly, before downing his tea like it was a pint and heading to his room to shower and change. Twenty minutes later he was parking in the centenary stand car park, ready to be herded onto the team bus to Melwood, just so they could come back later. Familiar blonde hair and Irish accent assaulted him as soon as he was out of his car, the heavy weight on his back settling as Niall wound his legs around Louis’ waist.

“Gee up, cowboy!” Niall tried to spur Louis on with kick’s to his thighs, arms wound tight round Louis’ throat. 

“Fuck off, y’cunt.” Louis tried to shrug him off, dislodging Niall from his waist which just caused his grip on Louis’ neck to tighten momentarily before he fell off. Niall Horan was centre midfield and Louis’ best friend, for his sins. He was also a pain in the arse on match day when he had too much adrenaline and not enough outlet, or not enough for a few hours anyway.

By the time they arrived at Melwood Park Louis had a drooling Niall leaned against his shoulder. It was always the way, Niall burned through energy like a spinning top before he briefly crashed only to wake up and start spinning again. Louis still wasn’t sure how he did it even though they had been friends for years.

There were a few paps as they walked into the training grounds, just the usual faces though, the photos would probably never even be sold. Louis picked at his New Balance jacket as they entered, still unimpressed he wasn’t allowed to wear adidas in public anymore after their falling out with the team in 2012. Louis had drawers and drawers of adidas sitting at home that just looked at him mournfully when he got dressed. It was his stan smiths he missed the most, although he supposed being able to afford really nice gear made up for it.

After dumping his stuff in the changing room and grabbing an energy bar for later, Louis went in search of his favourite physio. Bypassing the pool and the gym he headed straight for the massage room. There a tall man with a ridiculous quiff was waiting for Louis with two cups of tea and a huge grin. 

Nick had been his favourite staff member ever since Nick had worked out Louis was gay and had made it his mission to not only help Louis to come to terms with it, but to help him deal with his closet and also help him get laid at times. Nick was a blessing in Louis’ life. 

It was almost three years ago now, when Louis had been having some issues with his glutes and had been getting regular massages. Now, it doesn’t really matter how often you are getting laid, when a relatively hot bloke is massaging your arse, and you are into blokes, you are bound to run into some... problems. 

It was Louis’ third deep tissue massage that week, and he thought he had managed to get away with it. He’d been on his front, after all, and had made up a brilliant excuse about feeling a bit floaty and wanting to just lie for a while. He had totally thought Nick had bought it until Nick had cornered him in the changing room when Louis was alone, told him he knew, told him he would definitely  _ not _ be fucking Louis (he valued his job thank you very much), and then put his number in Louis’ phone. They’d been mates ever since.

“Hey footballer, how’s tricks?” Nick was from near Manchester but had somehow ended up at Liverpool after uni and claimed that as he never really supported football it didn’t bother him. Louis liked to rib him about it all the same.

“I’m good, Manc. How’s you?” Nick just rolled his eyes fondly and handed over a mug of tea. There were rules about caffeine on match day, which was exactly why Louis sneaked off to Nick’s domain as often as he could.

“Mmm, looking forward to the game? I see Harry Styles is playing. If I were ten years younger and he were more queer...” Louis slapped a hand over Nick’s mouth.

“No. No. Nicholas no. I’m gonna puke.” Louis made exaggerated retching sounds as Nick protested from behind Louis’ hand, eventually wriggling himself free.

“Is that a hint of jealousy I detect? Tommo I’m appalled I haven’t heard about this crush already. Give me all the goss.” Nick jumped onto one of the massage tables, folding his legs and sitting forward in anticipation of a great tale. Louis hated to disappoint but needs must.

“Nope. No crush. No jealousy. Just he’s too young and just. No.” Louis was a great actor. If he hadn’t been a footballer he’d be on the stage right now. Nick was totally buying it, Louis could tell.

“I don’t buy it for a second. But I get it. Now, get yourself back to the gaffer before he storms in here shouting in German again. I’ve still not recovered from last time, kept expecting my P45 on my desk for the entire next week.” Louis winced, remembering the time Klopp had walked in on Louis and his cup of tea and had made Louis run laps for an hour and then benched him for the entire first half.

Warm up runs and final match fitness checks took far longer than Louis thought was strictly necessary, but Klopp was nothing if not a stickler for them being utterly professional. It did fill the time though, and helped Niall burn of at least some of the excess energy.

Before he knew it they were back on the bus to Anfield, waving at the fans as they entered the grounds. The last hour before the final warm up was the worst. That was when he just had to sit in the dressing room with his thoughts. No one talked, it felt loaded and heavy. Louis had a routine. He’d listen to his favourite playlist, the same before every game.

After warm up the atmosphere broke somewhat, more jovial and fun than it was before. The team chatted as they changed into their kit, stripping trackies and hoodies in favour of their home kit. Louis still got a buzz when he wore it, still amazed he had somehow achieved this in his life. As a kid he’d sat in the Kop end, watching his idols play, watching them win and lose, break his heart and fulfil his dreams. Now he was that idol, for so many young kids. He had the chance to fulfil their dreams and his own, to add to the heaving silverware cabinet in the stadium. 

Finally it was time. They lined up to go down the stairs into the tunnel. The Liverpool players all touching the ‘This Is Anfield’ sign above their heads as they did. The Arsenal players studiously avoiding looking at it, a few gulping as they passed. This is Anfield. This is history. This is the future. This was everything Louis needed.

In the tunnel he caught sight of Harry for the first time. Wild curls held back by a headband, flushed cheeks, nervously bitten lips. It had been a while since they had come face to face in person and Harry had transformed from an adorably cute boy to a ridiculously hot man. Louis had seen him, he’d been on the TV, in the papers, he even possibly followed Harry from his locked private twitter that didn’t use his name. It was a different thing entirely being face to face with Harry. He felt breathless, on edge, the desire to reach out and touch those curls too great, the need to pull his lip from between his teeth where he worried at it almost overwhelming. 

Louis looked down at his boots, shuffling his feet along the concrete as they got closer to the players entrance. He could not lose focus over a man. He’d worked too hard for this, come too far. Today was about destroying the gunners, that was it. Nothing more, nothing less, certainly not about boys and curls and lips and  _ stupidly _ green eyes. 

The roar of the crowd hit Louis like a wall as he followed behind Sturridge onto the pitch. He never got over this, never got used to it. He’d walked out to a lot of crowds in a lot of stadiums, but nothing could beat Anfield. It was passion, love, ambition, winning, hurt, loss, broken dreams, past agony, future glory. Home.

_ Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart... _

He couldn’t help the grin as he walked into position. They were playing 4-2-3-1, Louis part of the three, attacking, over on the right flank. He could feel Niall behind him in midfield, Sturridge to his left, Gerrard beside Niall. The rest was a bit of a blur. He knew they were there, spaced out across the field. 

Harry was ahead of him, chatting to Giroud as the other team maneuvered into position. Louis shook himself, trying to dislodge the boy from his mind so he could focus on the game. 

The whistle blew, and nothing mattered apart from the game.

Louis had two chances and an assist towards Benteke in the first half, but none of them connected with the goal. They dominated possession, Arsenal barely having two shots on goal, but it remained nil-nil when the whistle blew. It was frustrating and demoralising but that was the nature of football. 

Klopp berated them at half time. No focused, not tight enough, not working together properly. Louis knew they would be facing longer training sessions and even more sports psychology nonsense if they didn’t win. It was the motivation he needed as he stepped back onto the pitch. That and the desire to beat the curly haired nuisance for the fact curly had been distracting him, even if it very much wasn’t Harry’s fault.

Louis scored at eight minutes into the second half. A pass down the line from Gomez was passed down the field by Niall. Louis found himself in the penalty box just in time to intercept the ball as it crossed the goal and execute a perfect top bin. The screams and adulation washed over him as he was piled on by his teammates. Euphoria, adrenaline and the sound of forty thousand people chanting his name. It was what he lived for.

It didn’t last long. Harry of all people equalled the score with a lucky flick into goal after Mignolet got caught out of position after clearing an attempt by Walcott. The silence was almost deafening, the whole stadium shocked before the Arsenal away fans seemed to realise what had happened and erupted into cheers and song.

_ Have you ever seen Gerrard win the league? Have you ever seen Gerrard. Have you ever seen Gerrard. Have you ever seen Gerrard win the league? Have you FUCK! _

Louis shook his head, appalled at the lack of creativity of the away fans. Gerrard was taking a lot of abuse, with the fact he was leaving at the end of the season at the forefront of everyone's minds. His captain was smiling ruefully when Louis caught his eye, however, before he shouted at the team to get it together and focus.

The rest of the match was scrappy, both teams desperately trying to make chances but failing to do so. The four minutes of extra time were the worst. Everyone exhausted but pushing up and down the field like their lives depended on it. The final whistle blew. A draw. At least it was a scoring draw, better than no goals at all. Klopp wouldn’t be happy though, and Louis suspected Wenger wouldn’t be either.

 

\---

 

The post match analysis made Louis’ head hurt. All he wanted to do was shower and get to see his sister who he knew was waiting for him up in the players lounge. James would hopefully still be there too, if Louis could get away quick enough. 

Finally he was showered and dressed, damp hair swept back from his forehead by a small back headband. He’d need to go home and change and dress himself up a bit before drinks that evening, but a couple of drinks with Lottie wouldn’t hurt.

When he made it up there Lottie was already deep into her fourth glass of wine. 

“Big brother!” She called from across the room. She was sat by a window overlooking the now empty pitch, surrounded by people Louis recognised as her friends, and a few of the other player’s girlfriends. Lottie had become a fixture at the ground, taking the heat off the fact Louis never had a significant other to bring to matches. She was there to fight his corner, take his comps, show how devoted he was to family, and hopefully stop anyone speculating that he was perpetually single. She’d been written up as his girlfriend by at least five tabloids so far, something that never failed to make him laugh, and her cringe.

They chatted, Louis sat on the arm of her chair, catching up on the week’s gossip. It seemed Daisy and Phoebe were doing well at secondary school, and Fizzy was enjoying her new private school. It was one of the biggest benefits of his job, being able to take care of his family back in Donny. Lottie was in the middle of training as a makeup artist and trying to make it big on youtube all at once. She excitedly told him about some event she had been at where apparently she’d met loads of famous youtubers. Louis had never heard of them.

“Tommo!” A familiar London accent shouted over the room, drawing his attention from some story about how someone called Alfie had annoyed someone called Joe and it was  _ hilarious Lou  _ and Alfie was a  _ total salt.  _ He was so grateful for the interruption that he jumped up and flung his arms around James without even noticing the man beside him.

“Louis, great game, great game. Glad it was a draw, obviously, but you were great.” Louis grinned. James was an Arsenal fan through and through so that was high praise indeed. The draw had sucked. The team would be being put through their paces even harder than normal for the foreseeable, but it was ok.  _ He _ had played well.

“Have you met Harry?” Louis turned to meet green eyes and slightly damn curls and freshly scrubbed skin. Oh. He really hadn’t prepared himself for this. It wasn’t usual for away players to come and hang out after. Usually they wanted to get home as quickly as possible.

Harry must have taken Louis’ silence for reproach over his presence.

“Sorry, I, sorry. I know it’s not normal. Me being here I mean. But James. Um, he’s a friend. And a fan. I got him tickets. He, he said it would be ok.” Harry managed to ramble in the slowest most thought through manner ever. It was adorable. Louis would be smitten if it wasn’t for the Arsenal crest on the tie around Harry’s neck.

“I guess we can put up with you, just for one day, mind.” Louis winked. He really shouldn't be winking at rival players but his crush had taken over his mental capacities and was rendering him fairly useless. He heard Lottie stifling a giggle beside him, but he couldn't’ take his eyes off the pretty blush that had appeared on Harry’s cheeks in response to the wink.

“I can see why you want to be up here though, Styles.” Louis’ mouth kept moving without his brain attached, words coming out that he seemed to have no control over. This happened when he was nervous. It was like he was trapped in his head, watching shit go down, with no way to control himself. He winced, bracing himself for whatever stupid thing came next.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Harry looked around as if genuinely curious about what might be so special about this player's lounge. It was, after all, just another generic conference room with a bar in the corner, a buffet set up to one side, and large glass windows looking over Anfield.

“Much better than the Emirates, innit. I mean, we’ve got history, class, spirit. What’s the Emirates got apart from overpriced meat pies and a giant sign saying ARSE outside?” Harry choked at Louis’ words, clearly trying to suppress something. Louis just didn’t know if it was laughter or indignation.

“Actually we don’t have meat pies at the Emirates, I don’t think? James? Pretty sure you can get pizza, bagels, nachos, all sorts. Never seen a pie though.” And really?  _ That _ was what Harry was taking from Louis’ ribbing?

“What’s football without a pie and a pint? You may as well be at the cricket.” Harry smirked at Louis’ retort.

“Love cricket, proper gentleman’s game. Good for summer fitness too.”

Louis rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath that of course Harry liked cricket, the posh accent should have been a give away.

“How’s your silverware looking these days? Bit tarnished?” Louis was on the back foot, throwing out insults without really thinking. Harry had him flustered. He saw James looking aghast out of the corner of his eye, possibly ashamed he had ever introduced Harry to Louis. That was until Harry burst out into a loud laugh, bent over and smacking his knee. He literally smacked his knee. Who even did that?

“Well it’s been filled out a bit by the FA Cup, you know, the one we just took home two seasons in a row.” Harry played with the bottle of water in his hands, not making eye contact with Louis until the very last word. Then he held it, not looking away, even as James risked his bollocks by launching into “she wore a yellow ribbon” in the middle of a room full of Liverpool players.

There was something caught between them, hanging on that eye contact. It felt like were Louis to break it the whole moment would be lost. 

“Let’s make a bet.” Harry’s voice was pitched low, quiet, for Louis’ ears only. He could see Lottie and James struggling to hear in his peripheral vision, but the world had focused down to two green eyes.

“A bet? What kind of bet, Styles?” He hoped the shake in his voice wasn’t audible, the tension was palpable and it was wracking him to his bones.

“We drew today. Whoever's team beats the other next time we meet, has to do a forfeit.” Harry drawled, his voice easy, unaffected seemingly in comparison to Louis. That just made it worse.

“Oh? And what would that forfeit be? I like to know the stakes.” There was a gleam in Harry’s eyes as Louis responded. He knew he had caught Louis. Knew he wouldn’t back down now.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something... appropriate. That can be decided as we get to know each other.” Harry winked. Louis might have done it earlier but there had been no intent. It felt like there was intent here. Louis really dearly hoped there was intent.

“Get to know each other?” He practically squeaked, Lottie had to turn away and cover her mouth she was laughing so hard.

“Mmmhmm. We’d have to talk, between matches you know, so we can set the terms  _ properly. _ ” There was definitely intent. Either that or Harry had heard the rumours about Louis and was fucking with him, but he didn’t  _ seem _ like a twat.

“I guess that makes sense.” He wiped his palms on his trousers, hoping they weren’t too sweaty before he held one hand out to Harry. “Deal?”

Harry grinned, wide and devilish.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, where I am conscious--ramblings
> 
> Comments and Kudos are like two FA cup wins in a row (sorry Zoe)
> 
> Don't forget you can subscribe to updates up there ^^


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